


Negative Space

by thezeekrecord



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27487084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thezeekrecord/pseuds/thezeekrecord
Summary: A short horror story about a young adult who reflects on the gruesome disappearance of their father as they begin to hallucinate the subject of an urban legend in their town.
Kudos: 2





	Negative Space

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: amputation, death, descriptions of body horror, unreality, deadnaming/transphobia
> 
> i posted this here like a year ago but i deleted it for some reason? i really can't remember why. oh well here it is again lol

**EIGHT.  
**

I saw an angel today.

It was perched on top of the abandoned temple, where the Moroni statue normally stands. Most likely, I wouldn’t have noticed it at all if it weren’t for the shifting, glowing shapes behind it; whether they were meant to be wings or halos, I’m not sure, but they would stretch out every couple of seconds as though it were about to take flight before the edges would round out into a perfect circle again. The glow caught on a steady trickle of some dark substance dripping from underneath its generously decorated golden crown, where its circle of eyes around its face all bore deep into my chest, as though passing final judgement on my soul. It had ten arms, some gripping the platform tightly to steady itself and others stretched out wide, palms pointed towards the sky as if it bore the weight of the heavens.

Of course, I know it wasn’t really an angel. It’s supposed to almost look like one, but they say it’s really a demon masquerading poorly as one to garner attention from humans. Apparently, if you see it on a night exactly like this without giving it an offering, it drags you down the stairs to the basement eight days later, and you’re never seen again. Some say it kills you, others say it’s a fate worse than death.

I think it’s a load of crap.

**SEVEN.**

My town isn’t very well kept. There’s plenty of abandoned lots and buildings that make perfect settings for urban legends. What else are kids supposed to do around here? All we have for miles is a dying mall and a movie theater. Might as well make up stupid ghost stories to get your friends riled up. When I was in junior high, I was dared to sleep in a supposedly haunted house for the night, and I just got attacked by a stray dog. Of course, I fed into the fear even more and told my friends my injuries were from the ghost. That’s just what you do around here.

You can imagine that’s why I want to leave; twenty-eight years in this tiny town with absolutely nothing to do can get to you. With my minimum wage jobs and no college degree, though, it’s hard to get the money to move anywhere exciting. I’ll probably be stuck here forever.

**SIX.**

I’ve seen the angel twice more since the first night. Every time I walk home from work I pass the abandoned temple, and it’s always been there. Yesterday I could see the glow through the grimy stained glass, and today the locked doors had been torn off their hinges entirely; it just stood there in the entryway, staring at me the same way it had the first night.

The story of the temple, however tasteless it is, holds a lot more water than most of the stories I grew up with. So much of it is based on real events that I remember with perfect clarity. I didn’t grow up religious, but my friend’s mother used to volunteer at that temple, so one day when my father still hadn’t come home, I tagged along. It was a hot morning; I thought the smell as I stepped in was just some leftover buffet that hadn’t been cleaned up and took a seat as close to the open doors as I could.

My friend and I had been sitting there for about ten minutes before we heard the scream. Her mother discovered it–the eight bodies barricaded in the basement, each missing one arm. All but one of the people that had disappeared over the span of a couple months rotted there for about three days before they were discovered.

Eight funerals, no culprit.

They say the killer was performing some kind of ritual to summon a demon that grants your wish if you offer it a part of you in return. Apparently, it took great offense to the killer offering it the arms of others to grant his own wishes, and stole his body as punishment. Now it’s taken residence in the church, trying to find humans to worship it. Fitting that it’s in a temple, I guess.

**FIVE.**

I haven’t told anyone about the angel. I don’t have the time to be worried about it; I’m working two jobs already, all I have the energy to do in my downtime is sleep, not get freaked out about some stupid urban legend.

Surely, there’s a logical reason I’m seeing the angel. I’d love to say it’s an elaborate prank, but it seems far too perfectly executed to be the work of some bored kids in this small town. How would they manage to get the costume to look so convincing? Besides, it would be a really sick prank to pull on me of all people. Everyone knows that.

**FOUR.**

I’m starting to think I need to see a therapist. I can at least acknowledge that I’ve never been good at processing my emotions–it’s just easier to bottle something up and set it aside. Maybe that’s why I’m seeing the angel. I’m sure since it’s so close to the 15th anniversary of my father’s disappearance, my brain is coming up with grotesque ways to force me to acknowledge my grief. That’s how that works, right? That’s why I’m seeing things.

I pestered one of my coworkers to walk home with me tonight. I’m sure I wasn’t as subtle as I wanted to be, but at least she humored me.

The angel was close to the fence this time. It was gangly and bony, and the extra arms were all clumsily stitched on and half rotten. Its face was completely unrecognizable, the ash-gray flesh pulled taught over its skull and soaked in that black substance flowing from underneath its crown. Its eyes stared directly at me with a kind of monstrous intensity I couldn’t bear to stomach.

Then, for the first time, it opened its disgusting mouth and spoke. It said my name. Not my real name, the one I’ve been legally known as for the past ten years, but the one my father gave me.

As I shrieked and stumbled back, my coworker stared right through it. She held onto my arm and asked me what was wrong, and I barely managed to scrape together enough composure to say I thought I saw some stray animal and pull her along. I don’t think she believed me.

**THREE.**

I avoided the temple tonight. I know it’s not real, but I thought if I avoided seeing it, I would feel more at ease. I can’t shake this terrible feeling, though–if I didn’t see it at the temple, how do I know it’s there?

Of course, that sounds stupid. It’s always been there. I’m not even sure it can leave, according to the legend–but of course, what does the legend matter if it’s just in my head? I keep picturing it around each corner I turn, waiting for me at the end of each dark hallway, ready to pounce whenever I open a door.

Some part of me wants to run back to the temple and confirm it’s still there behind the fence, not lurking in the shadows of my apartment. I’m not going to let myself give into the fear, though. I can’t let it get the best of me.

**TWO.**

I gave up. Today was my day off, so I was never obligated to leave the safety of my apartment. Still, the fear gripped me, dragging me down to the temple to confirm the worst.

There was nothing there when I arrived, as far as I could tell. At first, this terrified me–if it wasn’t there, it could be absolutely anywhere, right? The only comfort I could take was the realization that I had only ever seen it at night. The reasonable thing to do would be to go home and force myself to forget about it, but instead, I sat outside the fence for several achingly long hours, just waiting for a glimpse of its glowing halo somewhere inside.

Nothing. No sight of it, even well after the last glow of daylight had dipped below the horizon. I rushed home and hid under my blankets until morning.

**ONE.**

My father had been gone for three days prior to the discovery of the murders. However, his body was never found among the eight corpses in the temple’s basement. He always used to say how badly he wanted to see the rest of the world; he would homeschool me while we traveled, and we would always be home as long as we were together. If only we had the money to do it, he’d say. Money was the only thing stopping us.

It sounded perfect at the time. Just me and my dad, no loud classmates and overwhelming homework. I’d learn from the real world, just as he said. As I grew older without his influence, though, I started to leave that dream behind, just as my dad left me.

Still, even if I’m not traveling the world on a whim, I could never shake the need to get as far away from this town as possible. Get away from his memory.

The angel was outside my apartment tonight. Perched on a nearby tree to see into my window, it stared deeply at me, right into the tear in my soul. I could see in its hard gaze that it knew me, unlike any other person had. All in an instant, just at the blink of an eye, it could see my all my pain, my misery, my joy, my hopes–everything that made me who I am. I stared right back at it as I swung the window open, holding up a metal bat threateningly.

“I can give you what you want.” It groaned at me. Its voice was harsh but airy, its throat dried out and no longer meant for speech, and yet there was a tone of familiarity to it that only made my stomach churn. Still, it insisted on speaking, leaning in closer to speak my old name again.

I told it that’s not who I am anymore, and it only laughed before spreading out its glowing wings. “Who you are now and who you were before are of no concern to me. Make your choice soon, or none of it will matter at all.” It said before taking off. I watched it launch itself into the sky, but I lost sight of it almost instantly.

Instead, I set my sights on something else.

**ZERO.**

It wasn’t a hard choice to make, now that I saw everything in front of me clearly. I did put together a bag of clothes and food, but as I was walking through my front door, I threw the bag off my shoulders and let it land hard in the middle of the floor. There was only one thing I would need, I realized. Nothing else mattered–none of it ever mattered.

I stopped at work to buy it. A flash of worry spread across my manager’s face as I held the wooden handle firmly in my hands, telling him I wouldn’t be coming to work tomorrow–or ever again, in fact. I ignored his prying questions as I left the store for the final time.

It wasn’t easy getting past the fence to the temple, but when I finally stepped foot into the abandoned building, I felt a surge of dizzying energy around me. Everything was distant, even my own hands gripping the handle were miles away. The specks of dust that gently floated through the air were white noise on a television, the telltale sign of an absolute nothing, the manifestation of a lack of existence. The filler in our space between one place in time to the next. My life was just that; filler, nothing but biding my time from the last time I ever saw him until now.

That didn’t mean none of it mattered, of course. The deliberate call to attention to _nothing_ in stark contrast to the presence of _something_ can be absolutely vital. The negative space around a portrait provides context and depth to the thing your eye is ultimately drawn to. For the angel to laugh in my face as I declared who I am, dismiss the total nothing of my life, was an insult that cut deeper than it knew.

The cut went right through me. One minute it was there, and the next, blood flowed freely to the floor, pooling around my feet and sending me into a spinning haze. My axe clattered to the floor and I pressed my hand to the wound, where my arm used to be. The angel’s face split into a pleased grin while it accepted my offering. As it spoke my old name for the final time, I weakly retrieved my axe, heaving each painful breath and swaying as I stood upright.

“My name is Ramiel.” I spat through gritted teeth. “And I want your crown.”

The angel’s smile was gone in a second. “My crown?” It asked, lacing its fingers together thoughtfully. “Is it wealth you’re after?”

I stared into its numerous eyes wordlessly.

After a long few minutes of contemplation, the angel lifted the crown off its head. The black substance dripped unresisted down its face, mixing into my blood until we were surrounded by a sea of darkness. The crown was heavy as it carefully placed it upon my head, and as it took a step back to admire me proudly, it gave me a content smile. “You remind me of him,” it sighed fondly. With every ounce of strength I had left, I raised my axe high in the air.

“One more thing.” I said, relishing the way its eyes widened at me. “I want you to regret what I became.”

As I buried my axe into its skull, darkness sprayed everywhere until I was thrust into true _nothing_. A long, furious shriek pierced through my heart, blood spilling from my chest as I fell to my knees. My back burned white hot like the light that filled the endless void around me. The wings had taken their rightful place behind me, flapping wildly in defiance until slowly forming into a halo. I dragged myself up the stairs from the basement, existence slowly returning to me with each heavy step.

I took my perch on top of the temple, newfound power coursing through my veins. The static of my meaningless existence had ended. I occupied a new space, directly at the center of the world.


End file.
